


An Open Book

by thedevilchicken



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Eavesdropping, F/F, Library Sex, Sex Pollen (sort of!), Sexual Fantasy, Telepathic Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Yennefer telepathically eavesdrops on Tissaia's fantasies. This doesn't quite go to plan.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 117
Collections: The First Annual Femslash Kink Exchange 2020





	An Open Book

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alamorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/gifts).



What she sees when she closes her eyes is the library at Aretuza. 

It's a large room, all tall columns and high windows, and it's draughty most of the time like the mages of Aretuza are too fucking high and mighty to fix a window or two, not even with magic. Then there's flames in the hearth and the torches flickering in the entirely unnecessary gusts through cracked glass, as if that's good for anyone's eyesight. Still, she supposes _eyesight_ is the last thing any of Tissaia's girls will need to worry about in their rather lengthy lives. It's certainly quite low down her own list.

And there, at a desk in the centre of the room, is the woman herself. There's a book lying open, large and heavy, that she doesn't seem interested in touching with her bare hands. She's wearing a pair of pretty doeskin gloves dyed the same shade of deep wine red as the dress she's wearing and Yennefer's tempted to sweep in across the room and say _it matches your eyes, Tissaia_ , except then she'd give the game away. 

Then, all of a sudden, she doesn't have to. 

"Nice colour," Yennefer says, except it's not her at all. "Matches your eyes, you know." And Tissaia looks up to see that other Yennefer walk in. 

"It's usually considered polite to be quiet in the library," Tissaia says. "Did you want something or are you here just to start an argument?"

The other Yennefer shrugs. "I haven't decided yet," she says, and when she walks across the room, Tissaia doesn't take her eyes off her. When she hops up to sit on the table beside Tissaia's book, when she swings her legs and makes the long skirt of her dress swing with them, Tissaia doesn't take her eyes off her. When she picks the book up and sets it down on her lap, _that's_ when Tissaia's eyes leave her; she closes them, just for a moment, and she shakes her head. 

"Oh, Yennefer," she says. "Why do you think I'm wearing gloves?" 

"Because not a single mage in a hundred years has worked out how to fix a fucking window," Yennefer replies. "How should I know?"

Tissaia gestures at the book. Yennefer watches as her double lifts her hands away and lets it slide off her lap. It drops to the floor in a heap that Tissaia tuts at disapprovingly. Yennefer would say she cares more about Aretuza and its artefacts than she does about the people in it, if she didn't know that's just what Tissaia likes them to believe sometimes. 

"Poison?" the other Yennefer asks. 

"In a manner of speaking."

"Am I dying?" 

"No." 

"Am I going to want to?"

"I don't expect so."

"Then what is it?"

Tissaia leans in close; Yennefer can't hear what she says, but the other her laughs out loud like it's hilarious. The other her slips down from the table and picks the book up then slaps it down on the tabletop. She rubs her hands on the pages. And before Tissaia can move away, the other Yen takes her face in her moderately poisoned hands. 

"How droll," Tissaia says. 

"Well, I wasn't about to suffer alone." 

"Interesting that you think I'd have let you."

And then, they kiss. And then, Yennefer knows exactly what it is that the book's been coated with. Some books in the library are protected by magic, and some by locks, and some by poisons of various types; this one drives would-be thieves to distraction rather than death. It stands to reason that's what Tissaia's fantasies are full of: if she can't help herself, well, it's really not her fault at all. It's almost like she's never lost control in the first place.

Tissaia said libraries are meant to be quiet, but from what Yennefer sees that really doesn't seem to stop them. When the other Yennefer's teeth graze Tissaia's throat, above her high collar, she gasps; when Tissaia's palms brush the curves of the other Yennefer's breasts, she hisses a breath in through her teeth. The small red buttons that march down the front of Tissaia's high-necked dress in such an orderly fashion somehow open more easily than Yennefer's dress with its plunging neckline, but both do open. They step out of them, leaving pools of beautiful red and green fabric on the library's flagstoned floor and frankly it's almost like magic itself when Tissaia doesn't protest that they really should pause and hang them up before they're ruined. And, once they're out of them, once they're naked in the firelight except for their thigh-high stockings and their knee-high boots, Tissaia urges the other Yennefer back up onto the table and has her stretch out on her back against it, her legs dangling. Tissaia herself sits back down on her chair. 

From the shadows, Yennefer can see exactly what's happening. Tissaia's the one who taught her how to do this, not that she expects she thought she'd ever use it against her, and she watches her newly bared palms skim the other Yen's thighs. She watches her press her mouth to the inside of one knee. She watches her press her mouth against her cunt. She watches her lick her, just the tip of her tongue to the length of her slit, barely any pressure there at all. She watches her lap at her, he tongue pressing against her, thumbs parting her lips. She can almost feel the hard wood of the table against her bare arse and Tissaia's soft hands between her thighs and the heat of her breath, the heat of her mouth, the pressure as she sucks lightly at her clit. And when the other Yennefer groans, arching her back, spreading her legs, as frustrated from the poison as she is turned on, that's when she knows Tissaia's pushed at least one finger up inside her. In her bed, hundreds of miles away, Yennefer does the same to herself with two of her own.

She's thought about this for a very long time. She's thought about how Tissaia might look underneath all those prim and proper dresses, and now she knows. She's thought about how Tissaia might touch her, and now she knows that, too. She watches one of Tissaia's hands move up, over the other Yen's stomach, up between her breasts, while the other Yen's squeezing them so hard it surely has to hurt. Then she watches Tissaia's hand move down, between her own thighs as she perches there on the edge of her chair, keeping her balance with the toes of her boots. Except then she sits back. She pats the other Yen nearly condescendingly between her wide-spread thighs, rubs the obvious wetness of the other Yen's cunt from her own lips, and then tuts loudly.

"I know you're there, Yennefer," she says, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to pretend she's wrong, and not say a word, but Yennefer's never been one for the easy route. She'd say Tissaia taught her that, but she'd be lying; Tissaia really just nurtured what was there already. 

" _How_ do you know?" she replies, from the shadows. "I was careful. You can't tell me I wasn't careful."

Tissaia clucks her tongue. "I can and I will," she says, and she looks straight at her. "You're clomping around in my mind like a newly-shod horse. A little restraint, Yennefer, please."

Yennefer sighs. She screws her face up until her nose wrinkles and where she really is, she flops down dramatically onto her back. She's borrowed a bed - its owner is downstairs engaged in a completely fictitious orgy and likely won't need it for at least three nights, the way things are going. Inside Tissaia's head, though, she steps out of the shadows, and she gestures at the rather limp other Yen who's lying there confusedly on the table. A wave of one of Tissaia's hands - until so recently engaged elsewhere - and the other Yen vanishes. 

"So, you're saying I only saw what you wanted me to see?" Yennefer says. 

"Precisely."

"You're a tease, Tissaia." 

"You're an eavesdropper, Yennefer."

But when Tissaia stands, she's still naked in the firelight. There's a distinct twinkle in her eyes, so Yennefer narrows hers. 

"So, what if what you wanted me to see is what you'd like to do?" Yennefer asks. 

"And what if what you want me to do is what I wanted you to see?" Tissaia replies. 

"You're exhausting."

"You're extremely overdressed." 

But then, of course, she isn't anymore. Fantasies are helpful that way.

She realises a second too late that poison is still on Tissaia's hands; when Tissaia's palms skim her shoulders, the warmth they leave behind isn't all just the heat of her body. Yen groans and Tissaia laughs and she might not say the words out loud but she think it might be worth being caught just to hear her sound like that. 

She lets herself be taken by the hands and guided across the room. The space feels smaller now, and when Tissaia pushes at her shoulders, when Yen sprawls on her back on the furs by the fire, it's somehow now as hot against her skin as Tissaia's hands are. Her nails rake her hips and the insides of her thighs and Yen digs fingers and the heels of her boots into the furs she's been pressed onto. Tissaia kisses her, between her thighs, hot and wet and slow, like the poison on her fingers, on her skin, isn't affecting her at all. It's Tissaia's fantasy, of course, so maybe it isn't. And honestly, maybe it's all inside her head - or at least inside Tissaia's - but that doesn't seem to matter. 

The other Yen was right: all she can do is arch her back and moan with Tissaia's fingers pushed up knuckle-deep inside her and her clever mouth between her thighs. Tissaia was right, too: she really doesn't want to die. It feels quite a lot like the opposite.

"You should come back to Aretuza, one day," Tissaia says, once Yen's shivered through her second climax, as she's kneeling there between her thighs. Tissaia's lips are two shades redder than usual from what she's just been doing. Her hair's out of place, artistically, though Yen knows that's because she wants it to be. She traces the slick line where Yen's lips meet then sucks her fingertip thoughtfully. And then an imagined draught blows across Yennefer's bare cunt and makes her shiver. Tissaia smiles sweetly. "You know, I might even fix the windows."

Yen rolls her eyes and steps back out of her head before Tissaia can throw her out. But she doesn't say she won't go back.

And besides, she thinks she'll get at least another night or two out of the orgy going on downstairs. Aretuza is just a fantasy away.


End file.
